The Beaded Bag
by UnsureofAlmostEverything
Summary: When her new wand unleashes a dangerous new magic, Hermione believes she must face this problem on her own.  However, a former professor vows to help her escape the Ministry's grasp and rejoin wizarding society.  After all, he has nothing to lose.
1. Chapter 1

The Beaded Bag

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger sat on the bed in Wendell and Monica Wilkins' upstairs bedroom, staring down at the beaded bag lying on the duvet beside her. She hadn't bothered to turn on the lamp, but the door was ajar, and the facets of the bag's crystalline beads threw off dull gleams of light reflected from the hallway. It had been six weeks since Harry Potter had bested Voldemort in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. There had been parties and funerals, tears and kisses. With Ron and Harry, she'd been welcomed at the Burrow, praised at awards ceremonies, and featured in the Daily Prophet in a much more flattering way than usual. Now, she'd even been reunited with her parents, thanks to Professor Flitwick. Her former professor had agreed to travel with her to Australia two weeks ago to help her restore her parents' memories. It had been difficult for her to admit that she'd needed the help, but the fact was that Hermione's wand had ceased to work for her as it once had. The professor was long gone now, the Wilkins had been replaced by the Drs. Granger, and yet Hermione had still not unpacked her beaded bag.

She sat very still on the bed, her head bowed and her hair trailing wetly over the shoulder of the borrowed bathrobe as she stared at the bag and thought of her parents. She could hear them below, the clink and shuffle of their movements, their conversation as they arranged furniture and readied food for that night's cocktail party. The expressions on their faces when she'd offered to magically decorate the downstairs—surely her wand could handle an easy charm like that—had cut her to the core. They were afraid of her.

Hermione made a disgusted sound in her throat, then got up to shove the bedroom door closed. She knew she should have expected it, but it hurt nonetheless. _This is not how it was supposed to be_, she thought, balling up her fists in the darkness. The names of her fallen friends echoed relentlessly in her mind every night, robbing her of sleep. Kingsley had been unceremoniously shuffled out of the post of Minister of Magic in favor of a relatively unknown wizard who promised to root out corruption in the magical community. The Weasley family were all almost incapacitated by George's loss. Even the situation with her wand caused her grief. Not long after the final battle, she had noticed it growing clumsy, less powerful, until she could barely perform anything more complicated than an unlocking charm on the first try. Two weeks of subtle distrust and rejection from her parents on top of it all were proving to be almost more than she could bear.

Taking a shaky breath, Hermione turned on the lamp and opened her bag so that she could rummage through the rather disorganized contents until she found the dress she'd worn to Bill and Fleur's wedding. She held it up, frowning at it as she shook out the wrinkles.

_Why am I doing this?_ she asked herself. _This is wrong…everything's gone so wrong!_ She squeezed her eyes closed, remembering the blank looks her parents had exchanged when she'd mentioned returning to England and taking up their old lives. Her mother had simply laughed when Hermione suggested canceling tonight's party.

"They're our friends, sweetheart. We can't just tell them not to come, and on such short notice, too! Besides, it's Wend—your father's birthday."

"But how will you explain _me_?"

Her mother had waved a nonchalant hand. "We'll just say you've returned after a long estrangement. No one will ask questions about something like that."

Estrangement. Hermione's throat closed in a painful spasm. As though she had done a great wrong, as though she had failed them. It was strange how that one word could obliterate all the exhilaration of victory and make her feel completely alone.

Hermione let her dress fall on the bed and dipped back into the beaded bag. She had, by this point, memorized the two letters she'd received from the Burrow a week and a half ago, but the sensation of the parchment crinkling in her fingers and the sight of her name spelled over in beloved handwriting still served to soothe her. Ron's was short—_I'm not much for this sort of thing, Hermione_—but every line rang with a sincerity that made her eyes burn.

_I know you need time with your parents_, he'd written, _but I wish you'd come home. Got used to being with you day in and day out, I reckon. Still wish I would have come with you, but you were right. Mum and Dad are barely keeping it together, and with Bill and Charlie out of the country there's really only me to make sure they're alright_.

The last line was marked out by heavy strokes of ink, then hastily signed. Hermione ran her hand across the uneven scrawl with a tremulous smile.

The second letter was not, as she had initially thought, from Harry, but Ginny. The youngest Weasley had written that Harry was having a difficult time adjusting to life after their long months on the run. _Maybe it would be easier on all of you if you were here, _Ginny had suggested tactfully.

Hermione felt a stab of resentment at the sudden sound of her mother's voice raised in greeting the first guests downstairs. _What am I doing here? The people that really need me are half a world away!_

The anger died away almost instantly, washed away by a flood of guilt. She never should have expected her parents to just wake up and be alright. None of them were. Ron, buckling under the responsibility of carrying an entire family's grief. Harry, sunk in listlessness, coasting along without identity apart from the evil being he'd spent half a lifetime hating. And her…well, none of them had adjusted, had they? She was just the most adept at hiding it so far. No one had seen the panic attack that had nearly done her in the day before her departure for Australia when she could not find her beaded bag. Molly, in a spate of distracted housework, had collected it in a laundry hamper. Perhaps, like the rest of them, her parents just needed time.

A rattle at the window made her start out of her thoughts, but she almost immediately discerned the outline of an owl tapping at the pane. When she ran over to lift the sash, the big grey creature swooped inside, winging a wide arc around the room before lighting on the bedpost and proffering its leg. Hermione's breath quickened as she spied the narrow package secure there. _My wand! It must be my new wand from Ollivander!_ Hands shaking, she untied both the package and the thin letter. It was with only the greatest self control that she was able to force herself to open the letter first.

_My dear Miss Granger_, Ollivander had written in tiny script. _I apologize for the delay in filling your order. I must admit that the difficulties we encountered in our initial meeting did not quite prepare me for the task of finding a wand to suit you. Perhaps it is not every day that an already talented witch is pushed beyond what she should have to endure, not once, but again and again. Should it surprise us that you would have outgrown your old wand as a child does shoes? Perhaps, though, the difficulty lay with me. At any rate, I was, at length, able to procure a wand compatible with your magical signature. It is a unique instrument, I think you'll find, though I know little of its composition or past. I did not make it myself, you see. All my attempts being inadequate, I resorted to putting the case before an old colleague who was able to oblige us. Please accept this wand with my compliments. I hope it serves you well. _

Hermione's natural curiosity was raging by the time she finished reading the letter, and, forgetting the bustle of the party below, she grabbed up the package and attacked the twine and paper wrappings. Finally, she tore the box open and there it was, her new wand, lying on a pillow of silvery cloth. Longing swept over her at the sight of it. She had missed having a proper wand more than she wanted to admit. As she lifted it from the box, she was struck by its strange beauty. The wood was light, its surface dull and yet satiny smooth, almost like driftwood. It was longer and slimmer than her previous wand, and when she rolled it between her fingers, her skin broke out in goose bumps.

"There is no way," she said aloud, staring at the slender instrument in her hand, "that I'm going to be able to wait till after the party to try you out."

Zipping herself into her dress and knotting her damp hair back into a tight chignon took only moments, and soon she was scooping up both wands and the beaded bag before heading downstairs. She avoided the growing throng of guests with an adroitness that would have done Harry and Ron proud, and was able to slip out of the kitchen door without anyone seeing her. The Australian night was warm. A newborn crescent moon afforded her enough light to navigate past the patio furniture and away from the house to where the shrubbery was thicker. Conscious of the Muggle houses stretching out all around her, glanced back at the lighted windows behind her before raising her new wand. She gave no thought to what spell she would try; the word and gesture that summoned her bluebell flames were so familiar to her that they had become almost a reflex. She was, therefore, completely unprepared when an enormous gout of fire erupted from the wand tip and knocked her off her feet. She shrieked and dropped the wand to hide her face from the bone-searing heat and glare, then scrabbled backwards. The belt of trees and shrubs that separated her parents' lot from the neighboring one had caught fire, she realized in terror, the green wood popping as the treetops writhed like tongues of fire.

"No, no…" she moaned.

"Hermione!"

Her father's strangled shout brought her to her feet, and her stomach swooped as she saw guests spilling from the back door, their shocked faces stained crimson from the firelight. They clutched each other and pointed, open-mouthed at the spectacle, and one or two were already on their mobile phones, no doubt calling emergency services. Hermione tottered forward to meet her parents in the middle of the yard, her hands outstretched as through to ward off the angry words she saw ready to spill from their lips.

"Dad," she choked out. "I don't know what happened, but I can fix it. I just have to find my wand, and I can—"

Her father cut her off by grabbing her upper arms and shaking her. "What do you think you're doing? Are you crazy? Do something, get rid of it!"

She nodded and ran forward a few steps into the smoke and heat to where she'd dropped her precious belongings. Her hand closed almost immediately on her wands and bag, but her mother's scream stopped her just as she was about to raise her arms to try another spell.

"No! Wendell, no, stop her! God knows what else she'll do!"

Hermione turned, and cringed to see her parents wince away when the wand pointed toward them. She lowered it hastily. "Mum, I can fix it. I swear I can! It's easy, I can do it."

Her mother, standing rigidly beside her father, shook her head. "Don't let her, Wendell."

Wendell raised a placating hand, glancing back at the guests, who were beginning to turn their attention away from the line of burning trees and toward the family drama unfolding in the yard. "Maybe she's right, Hermione. The fire department will come…they can handle it. Maybe you'd better just go inside."

"No!" Monica almost shouted the word, making Hermione gasp. "Hear that?" her mother continued, jerking her head to indicate the wail of sirens in the distance. "They're coming. They'll want to know what happened."

A terrible fear was beginning to bloom inside Hermione's chest, and she made a helpless gesture. "I know. Mum, please, it wasn't my fault. There must be something wrong with my new wand."

"Don't! Don't even talk about it," her mother spat. "Wands, magic, owls, I wish I had never heard of any of it, Hermione Granger!"

"But that's all a part of who I am. Remember how happy we all were when I got my Hogwart's letter? Nothing's changed. You know I would never do anything to hurt you."

Hermione broke off when her mother's expression went stiff with what could only be characterized as hatred. It was clear now. They had not forgiven her for Obliviating them, even when Professor Flitwick had explained over and over how it had been necessary, how it had probably saved their lives. They would not forgive her for disrupting their lives. It was obvious what they wanted of her.

Hermione bowed her head and walked away, stumbling toward the yard's side gate. She let it bang behind her, then walked on until she could no longer hear the sirens or smell the smoke. Sobbing now, she pressed ahead several blocks more until she came to a small park. It was, she knew, foolish to risk Apparating when she could hardly concentrate through the trembling and tears. For once, though, Hermione Granger did not stop to think through her options. She just shut her eyes and spun herself away, not much caring where she ended up.


	2. Chapter 2

The Beaded Bag

Chapter 2—A Bearer of Bad News

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! Just a quick word of thanks to those of you who reviewed and put this story on alert. I had no idea how motivating that kind of thing is! In case anyone wondered, this story will probably end up being about novella-length. I'm invested in this story, so no worries about abandonment. Also, a couple of technical things: I've decided to chuck anything about Deathly Hallows that doesn't serve my purposes. The majority of the storyline stays, but certain deaths had to go. And the epilogue…let's just forget about that completely, shall we? More fun that way. Finally, there is debate about whether a working wand is necessary for Apparition. I've decided that it falls under the category of spells that can be accomplished wandlessly or wordlessly if the witch or wizard has the skill to do so (similarly to how Apparition works in the movies). Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy!**

_Plonk!_

Hermione found herself thoroughly and obnoxiously awakened by a large wet splash on her left eye. She sat up, spluttering, and looked toward the ceiling in time to take note of another large drop of water just before it splattered against her forehead.

"What the—oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered to herself, shoving the quilts to the end of the dusty four-poster and climbing out of bed.

After exhausting herself last night by Apparating half-way across the world in countless short stages, Hermione had found herself standing in Diagon Alley with no other desire than to find a room where she could curl up alone and have a good cry. The most likely thing to do was to go to the Burrow, of course, but the thought of having to listen to herself explain what had happened had seemed unbearable. Plus, she thought she'd collapse if she had to Apparate one more mile. And so, she'd trudged toward the Leaky Cauldron through the darkening streets with the hood of her traveling cloak up so that none of the bustling witches or wizards would recognize her. The only room available in the inn had been the garret, which, the elderly wizard at the desk had informed her, leaked abominably. Hermione had plunked down her money anyways, and, pausing only to kick off her pinching dress shoes, thrown herself on the musty bed to have her cry. She remembered nothing after that—apparently fatigue had won out over sorrow. The storm that was now producing distant rumblings of thunder must have blown up in the night, and of course the leak _would_ end up being right over her head.

"Oh, my dear," a nasal voice said, making her jump and look around wildly. "You do look a fright, I must say."

The voice, Hermione determined, came from the long oval mirror jammed under the sloped ceiling. There were many charmed mirrors at Hogwarts, and she had soon learned to cultivate a studied indifference to their comments about her hair and figure. Now, though, the unexpected comment made her glance toward the reflecting surface before she could stop herself. What she saw brought all of the previous night's anxiety back in a flood. Her dress was smudged and wrinkled; her face streaked with soot and dried tears. As for hair, it was an indescribable mess thanks to the strangely immaterial and yet violent wind of Apparition.

"A few charms will put it all right in a jiff," the mirror suggested.

_Charms._ Hermione sank down onto the wooden chest which had been pushed up under the rain-streaked window. Her old wand was virtually useless, as she'd discovered last night when she'd wanted to light a candle. The new one...

"I can't believe this is happening," she said out loud. "What am I going to do without a wand? What am I going to do without Mum and Dad?"

The last part came out as little more than a whisper. Every succeeding year at Hogwarts had created greater distance between her and her parents; there were so many things that she just couldn't tell them without getting herself withdrawn from school immediately. The months on the run with Harry and Ron had widened that gap, especially since however much she might be thinking of them or wishing to hear their voices, her parents had absolutely no idea that she existed. But Hermione could not deny that a vital part of her identity was tied inextricably to the knowledge that she belonged to her parents. It marked her—yes, as a mudblood, but more importantly as a Granger. That meant something to her, regardless of how little it signified in the magical community.

Sitting there, her forehead pressed against the cool glass, Hermione thought again of how different life after the threat of Voldemort was to what she had expected. She and Ron and Harry and Ginny with bright, boundless futures, her own unshadowed by any suggestion of mudblood unworthiness. And most of all, the restoration of her relationship with her parents, who would again tell her how proud they were of her.

"So much for being a war hero," she began, but her bitter speech was interrupted by a noise at the door.

She got up and found a folded piece of parchment lying on the floor where someone had shoved it underneath. After glancing at the address to make sure it really was intended for her, she cracked the elaborate wax seal to find an official looking Ministry document headed with the name Linus McCrae, the new Minister of Magic.

_Miss Granger,_ the letter read, _the Office for the Misuse of Magical Power has informed us of an incident in which you intentionally performed feats of grossly potent magic in the company of Muggles. Not only did you violate the International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy, you also used amounts of magic that cannot normally be summoned except by means of Dark Magic. According to recent Ministry policy changes, all such incidents require careful scrutiny and oversight. Therefore, you are hereby commanded to present yourself at our office immediately so that your actions may be investigated. Yours sincerely, Crayton Minceford, Office for the Misuse of Magical Power_

Hermione could only stare at the thick page as a wave of rage rose within her. After everything that had happened, after living in a tent for most of a year, after seeing friends die, after having her parents disown her, now the Ministry had decided to _investigate_ her actions! The neatly curling calligraphy on the parchment swam before her eyes, then the snapped her head up and flung the letter on the floor.

"How _dare_ they!" she screeched, stamping on it with her bare foot. "_Commanded to present myself?_ I'd like to see them try!"

She let herself fume for a moment at the injustice of it, then took a deep breath and shook her hair back. Many things had happened to and in Hermione Granger over the last year, and one of the most significant changes these things had wrought was that she no longer cringed to authority. Crayton Minceford and Linus McCrae probably thought themselves very important, but she had issues of real importance to deal with today.

"Ollivander," she said to herself, bending to pick up the offending letter. "Definitely Ollivander first. Then the Burrow. And, when I'm good and ready, I'll deal with _you_," she finished, crumpling up the parchment and tossing it across the room.

The wadded ball struck the mirror, which _tsked_ irritably.

"First things first," she said, frowning at her reflection there.

The rain had slackened to a misty drizzle by the time Hermione had dressed, repacked her beaded bag, and ventured out into Diagon Alley. She was glad she had put on Muggle jeans and a sweater under her cloak; the afternoon was chilly and she could see her breath in the air. Thanks to the rain, the streets were less crowded than the last time she had seen them, though in general the shopping district had regained much of its former activity since the fall of Voldemort. She bought a pastry and a cup of tea from a vendor and devoured them as she wound her way through the maze of oddly matched buildings and groups of browsing shoppers. The gnawing in her stomach had been satisfied by the food, but a sort of sick nervousness settled in its place, growing worse the closer she got to Ollivander's shop.

_What're you expecting, really?_ she asked herself, licking butter and cinnamon from her fingers. _You tried absolutely every wand in the place the last time you where there, and nothing worked at all!_

It had been an almost surreal experience, now that she thought of it again. Usually, a witch could coax some sort of response out of a wand, even one that was totally incompatible with her magical energy. Hermione herself had successfully used Bellatrix Lestrange's wand. Using it had been like dragging a log uphill while trying not to throw up, but still, the magic had come when bidden. She'd gone back to using her own wand during the final battle, of course, but after that day, her ability with her wand had begun to dribble away. She had gone straightaway to Ollivander's with Ron and Harry, who had both been as shocked as she when none of the wands in the place would work for her in the least.

"It isn't—I mean, her magic's alright, isn't it?" Ron had asked the wandmaker, his expression grave.

Ollivander had looked up from a stack of dusty boxes he'd fetched from the second floor. "Oh, I would be able to tell if something had happened to her magic. Never fear, young man. The problem's with the wands, I assure you."

Hermione had not felt very reassured. The wands had felt _dead_ in her hands, a sensation that still made her skin creep with uneasiness.

_Still,_ she told herself_, that's where to start. If anyone knows anything about what's going on, it'll be Ollivander._

"Hermione Granger?" a male voice asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She looked up to see two robed wizards barring her way. Neither were familiar to her, and both wore blue and yellow patterned badges pinned to their clothes.

"Yes?"

"Come with us, please," the one to her right said as he put out a hand to take her elbow.

"Excuse me?" She heard her voice rise in pitch and chalked it up to indignation rather than the swift stab of fear that had shot through her chest.

"You will accompany us to your appointment at the Office for the Misuse of Magical Power, Miss Granger. Mr. Minceford expected to see you by now."

The other wizard, a short man with a fringe of yellow hair combed forward to hide a weak forehead, pursed his lips knowingly. "Not wise to disappoint him, my dear. Come along, won't you?"

Hermione wrenched her arm out of the first wizard's grasp. "No, I don't think so."

"Better to get it over with, you know," the short one said, taking a step forward so that he was close enough for her to see the lint on his robes. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be back by tea time."

To Hermione's shock, he made a grab for her. She responded instinctively, lashing out with her elbow, and he doubled over with a wheeze. The other man lunged for her with a snarl, but before she could scream, a body forcibly pushed its way between her and her attacker, shoving the other man to the ground. He leapt up immediately, but shrank when he found a wand pointed directly at his throat.

"Professor Lupin?" she gasped, amazed. She hadn't seen him since the battle at Hogwarts, and now here he was, fending off her unknown assailants.

"What's going on here?" Remus Lupin asked in his clear, quiet voice, not taking his eyes off of the two men opposite him. They were attracting something of a crowd now, but he seemed not to notice.

"I-I'm being investigated for misuse of magical power," she said lamely. "I was going to go clear things up, later, I mean, but then these two showed up and tried to force me to leave with them."

Lupin raised an eyebrow, then gave a short laugh. "Gentlemen, you heard the lady. She'll come to the Ministry when she's ready."

"We're supposed to have her come _now_," the shorter wizard protested. Some of the bravado had gone out of him with a stranger's wand pointed at him.

"Don't you know who this is? Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's best friend? What do you think your boss will say when he hears you tried to manhandle the best friend of the Boy Who Lived?" Lupin demanded. "Given her background, I think we can trust her when she says she intends to keep her appointment. Besides, do you really think you can stop someone like her if she doesn't want to go?"

The two Ministry officials glanced at each other, then took two paces back.

"Twenty-four hours, then," the first wizard said. "She shows her face within twenty-four hours or we'll come find her. And we'll have the Aurors join us." He gave a nasty smile, and then Disapparated with a crack with his partner not far behind.

Hermione stared at the spot where they had vanished, then rounded on the man beside her. "What is going on?" she burst out. "I mean, thank you, professor," she amended, recollecting herself.

"Call me Remus," he said, giving her one of his self-deprecating smiles. "As for what's going on, I think you're in a better position to explain than I am. What on earth do the Magical Power lot want with you?"

Hermione looked up at her former professor and wavered. She still wanted to go to Ollivander's and try to make some sense out of the problem with her wand. But Prof—Remus' expression was intent, and, as always, he radiated a sense of calm and security that, at the moment, was practically irresistible. She had always been slightly jealous of Harry's closeness to their sympathetic teacher. To have had a mentor like that during the worst time at Hogwarts would have meant everything to her. But she'd been alone.

"Is there somewhere we could go to talk?" she said finally. "It's a long story."

Remus smiled in earnest then, and offered her his arm. "Absolutely."


	3. Chapter 3

The Beaded Bag

Chapter 3—No Easy Answers

**Author's Note: Again, a big thank you to those who commented and put this story on alert. I'm really enjoying this and I hope you all are too. Oh, and I realized I haven't said this yet: the Harry Potter universe does not belong to me!**

Remus leaned back in the battered leather armchair and stared out of the tea shop's window without seeming to really see the bustle on the street outside. Hermione, who'd just finished her recital of what had happened to her and her magic in the weeks following Voldemort's defeat, sent him a searching look over her teacup. She'd never been to the shabby little tea shop before, but his choice had been a good one: the place was just noisy enough so that the muted tones of their conversation could not be overheard, but not so crowded as to make her nervous about meeting anyone that might recognize her. Her story had been difficult enough to tell without those kinds of worries. Not only did it feel strange to confide in anyone besides Harry or Ron, but she was a little afraid of embarrassing herself in front of Remus. Her voice had wobbled when she'd talked about her parents, despite her best efforts to keep it steady. Perhaps she sounded like an adolescent running to a former professor with petty problems.

The look she saw now on Remus' face, though, dispelled that momentary fear. His expression was grave, and he'd been lapsed in deep thought for several minutes now, apparently considering her words carefully. His hair, she noticed, had grown longer since the last time she'd seen him. Properly seen him, that is. The daze of battle and its aftermath didn't count. At Bill and Fleur's wedding, he'd been quite smart in a set of new dress robes, though even then she'd not had a chance to speak with him beyond the usual chit-chat. He'd spent the majority of the reception outside, scanning the sky for danger. She definitely remembered his hair being shorter, though, and not so heavily streaked with grey.

_It suits him_, she thought idly, then was immediately ashamed of herself. The change no doubt had more to do with neglect than any concession to fashion. Before she'd left for Australia, she'd heard how Tonks had left him for a visiting American auror, claiming baby Teddy was not Remus' son. Hermione's teeth clenched as she thought of how the loss must have affected him. _How could she have done such a thing, especially after going through so much trouble to convince him of her feelings? Unbelievable._

As he was still lost in silent musing, she was able to examine him more closely. Other than his untrimmed hair and stubbled jaw, her former teacher did not seem to outwardly wear his grief. The trousers and navy sweater he wore under his cloak fit his compact form well enough, and his features, while somewhat tired, had lost the drawn look that had haunted them during his Hogwarts days. All in all, he appeared to her much as he always had—as an understatedly handsome, reserved man whose manner belied the beast she knew lurked somewhere within his veins.

The shopkeeper came up to refill their jug of milk then, rousing Hermione from her study and Remus from his reverie. He sat up and fixed her with his steady gaze, steepling his fingers at his chin.

"I'm afraid I have nothing to tell you that you'll want to hear," he said. "You haven't had much news while you were away, have you?"

"No," she said, putting down her cup and clasping her hands nervously. "Ron and Ginny aren't the most informative letter writers. Please, Remus, what do you know?"

Remus picked up a biscuit from the tray between them, then flicked it back onto the plate with an air of disgust that she was fairly certain had nothing to do with shortbread. "You've at least heard what happened to Kingsley, I assume."

When she nodded, he went on. "He didn't last a month. As soon as his policies about non-human magical beings went public, there was such an uproar that he was forced to step down. The Ministry itself exerted a great deal of internal pressure too, from what I can tell."

Hermione frowned. "His policies about non-human…what do you mean?"

Remus' eyes flashed with a sudden glint of humor. "You could say he took a page out of your book, Hermione. After seeing firsthand how easily Voldemort played upon certain prejudices in our community, Kingsley thought it essential that centaurs, giants, goblins, even well-regulated werewolves—" his mouth twisted wryly- "have a secured place in wizarding life."

Hermione's mind raced as she tried to puzzle out cause and effect from this information. "But people were scared to accept them after their brush with Dark Magic?"

Remus gave a dry laugh. "Scared? Terrified is more like it. Paranoid even. And when people are that afraid of facing monsters, whether real or imagined, no logic in the world means anything to them. People went from clamoring for Death Eater arrests to speaking out against anything even remotely associated with Dark Magic or unusual powers. With Linus McCrae as Minister, the legislation went through more quickly than you could imagine. There were inquiries and arrests. Seers were brought in and questioned to determine the source of their powers, and Animagi, centaurs, and veela were detained and made to demonstrate the extent of their powers."

"And what about well-regulated werewolves?" Hermione broke in.

Remus shifted his gaze, looking over her shoulder as though unwilling to meet her eyes. "I was one of the first to be questioned under the new laws."

"And?" Worry made Hermione press him despite his obvious discomfort.

"I must spend each transformation in a Ministry holding cell and submit to testing and monitoring. Any appearance of wrongdoing on my part, any whiff of anything Dark earns me a ticket to Azkaban." His tone was bitter.

Outrage flooded Hermione, and she straightened so quickly that she almost upset the tea tray. "But the Wolfsbane potion—everyone knows about that!"

The older man regarded her with a tinge of sadness in his expression. "The facts are meaningless at this point. It's really a shame, though. Severus has recently made several improvements to the formula, so there's less to fear now than ever. If I make that known, of course, I run the risk of dragging Severus back into the spotlight along with me."

"You ran a risk just helping me earlier!" Hermione burst out, the injustice of his situation temporarily making her forget her own problems. "You shouldn't have gotten yourself involved."

"I gambled on the chance that those new Magical Power recruits wouldn't recognize me." He picked up his cup and stared down at the contents. "Besides, as I'm sure you've heard, I have a lot less to lose than I once did."

"Yes," she said hesitantly, her anger snuffed out by his reference to his failed marriage. "I'm so sorry, Remus."

"Don't be," he replied, making his voice brisk. "I have known it was coming for a long time. Let's talk instead about what we're going to do about you."

Taking his cue, Hermione damped down her surge of curiosity at his statement about Tonks and gathered her thoughts. "I was on my way to see Mr. Ollivander when you found me," she said. "If he can fix my wand somehow, or find another that will work, I need to know about it." She pursed her lips, thinking. "I know I need to keep my appointment at the Ministry, but I so want to visit the Burrow, too. Harry and Ron don't even know I'm back in the country."

"I wouldn't mind a conversation with Harry myself," Remus said, fishing a few sickles from his pocket and stacking them on the table. When Hermione picked up her bag to do the same, he waved for her to stop. "Allow a friend to buy you some tea, will you? Anyhow," he went on, getting to his feet with only a fraction of his usual stiffness, "to tell you the truth, I'm worried about him as well."

"He's a Parselmouth," Hermione whispered, staring up at her former professor in horror.

"One with a great deal of power and loyal followers," he finished grimly. "Just what most of the wizarding community is afraid of."

He held out his hand to help her to her feet, then, in keeping with his usual unstudied politeness, gestured for her to walk ahead of him out of the shop. When they emerged into the open air, he stopped and looked at her, squinting a little against a stray gleam of sunlight that had dared to peek through the heavy clouds overhead.

"Hermione, would you mind if I tagged along with you to see Ollivander?" he asked. "I know you can handle this on your own, but—"

"Oh, please do," Hermione found herself interrupting. Her cheeks heated at the eager note in her voice. "I mean, I'm sure you want to know what's going on too."

His eyes crinkled up a little more at the corners, and he offered her his arm. Feeling slightly flustered, yet pleased at the prospect of his company, she pulled up the hood of her cloak before taking his arm. Despite the fact that Remus' slight limp made the going a little slower, they wound their way through the growing crowds on the streets quickly enough so that they soon found themselves in front of Mr. Ollivander's cramped and dusty shop. Hermione took a deep breath, making a silent wish for easy answers, then pushed open the door.

The interior of the shop was dim and quiet except for the chime of the bell over the door. Hermione craned her neck for a sight of the wandmaker, but she could see nothing except for the absurdly tall shelves stacked high with wand boxes.

"Miss Granger." Mr. Ollivander's voice came, unexpectedly, from above, and she stepped back to see him standing atop a sliding ladder to one side of the door, where more piles of boxes teetered crazily on the haphazard shelving above the lintel.

"There you are, Mr. Ollivander," she said, exchanging an amused glance with Remus. "Is this a good time to talk to you about my new wand?"

The wandmaker sighed and tapped the shelf with his wand, making all the boxes straighten themselves at neat angles. "Yes, of course. Not that I don't enjoy our conversations, my dear, but I was hoping you wouldn't have to come back to see me this soon."

He took the steps carefully, then brushed his hands on his work apron before holding one out to Remus. "Remus Lupin, my dear boy. Good to see you. Yes, well, let's arrange for a little privacy, shall we?" The stoop-shouldered old man flicked his wand toward the door in a gesture that flipped the sign to "closed." "Come along, in the back," he added, waving them forward.

Soon, the three of them were settled in chairs in the small office area behind the shop's maze of shelves. At one side of the makeshift room sat the wandmaker's work bench, which was strewn with all manner of stone, metal, and glass tools, as well as boxes and vials of wand-making ingredients. Hermione would have given a great deal for a chance to truly study the materials on the bench, or listen to Mr. Ollivander discuss them. She knew so little about wands, and had often been frustrated by the lack of information on the subject in the Hogwarts library. She had just torn her eyes from the fascinating spectacle and was readying herself to tell her story yet again, when Remus cleared his throat and began speaking instead.

She listened gratefully as he summarized everything that had happened, sketching out the pertinent points without going into detail about her emotional separation from her parents. She was, she realized, growing tired, though it couldn't have been very late in the day.

Mr. Ollivander listened expressionlessly, then proposed a series of tests to discover whether he could learn anything new about the wand and her relationship to it. First, he instructed her to produce her old wand, which she dutifully brought out of her beaded bag and handed over. Mr. Ollivander gave it an experimental flick, and a shower of chocolate candies pattered to the floor. He proffered it to Remus, who Vanished them easily.

"Now you, my dear. Could you favor us with a little light?"

Knowing what would happen, Hermione took the vine wood wand and said "Lumos." When nothing happened, she shrugged irritably. "I told you," she said. "There's nothing there. It doesn't even feel like a wand...just a stick."

"Mmm hmm," the wandmaker murmured. "Now, the new one, if you please. Remus, you first."

Hermione watched as Remus, who had pushed up his sleeves as though ready for serious work, took the slender grey wand. He raised it, then gave it a strange look before swishing it expertly through the air. Nothing happened, and he swished again, this time verbalizing the levitation spell he had aimed at a quill on the writing table sitting between them. Again, nothing.

"I see what you mean, Hermione," he said, holding the wand up at eye level and scrutinizing it more intensively. "To me, _this_ one doesn't feel like a wand. There's none of the usual magical resonance that you normally get, even when you hold an enemy's wand."

He handed it to Mr. Ollivander, who tested it with his own series of swishes and flicks. Hermione grew increasingly anxious during the procedure, though she couldn't pinpoint the source of her unease. When the wandmaker ran his hands down the wand's smooth grain to examine it, she caught herself on the point of jumping up and grabbing it from him.

_Stop being ridiculous_, she told herself, forcing her attention back onto the conversation.

"As I suspected, Miss Granger, I can tell you nothing new about this wand," Mr. Ollivander concluded, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head so that he peered over the edge of his spectacles at her. "I believe our next step is to have you demonstrate."

"Demonstrate!" Hermione's stomach twisted. "I can't. You know I can't. There must be some other way." She gave the wandmaker a pleading look. "Your colleague—the one who gave it to you—he must know something."

Mr. Ollivander shook his head. "_She_ knows nothing further, I'm afraid. This wand was part of the existing inventory of the shop she took over in Finland. Please, my dear. There's nothing to fear."

_Nothing to fear!_ She stopped herself from shouting in mocking disbelief. _The first time I demonstrated, I nearly burned down a suburban hedgerow, and the second earned me a place on a Ministry watch list!_

As though reading her thoughts, Mr. Ollivander spoke gently. "You needn't worry about the Ministry detecting your use of magic here. I undertake incredibly risky magical experiments in this building, you know. The entire shop is surrounded in protective spells that prevent anything hazardous from escaping. They won't know."

Hermione bit her lip, then, against her will, glanced at Remus. He was looking at her with compassion in his eyes, and though he leaned back against his upholstered chair in an apparently relaxed posture, she noticed that he had his own wand in his right hand. For some reason, that reassured her, and she was able to clear her throat and speak.

"Alright, I'll do it. But only if you both stand back and shield yourselves."

The two men obeyed with alacrity, moving back against the far edge of the room, both with wands at the ready. She stood up in the middle of the office, but only raised her own wand when she saw that they had both spelled shimmering shields in front of them.

"Go ahead," Remus told her.

She nodded and fixed her eyes on the quill Remus had tried to levitate earlier. As though it could sense her intention, the wand seemed to glow with a cool power that hummed against her skin. Hermione breathed in slowly to summon all the mental control that she could, then released the spell.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

So many things happened in such quick succession that she could barely process it all. The spell left her body with a blaze of energy that seemed to sear her skin with its intensity, and then the entire desk, along with the four or five chairs that had been grouped around it, shot up to the ceiling, where they collided with the invisible wards. The wards pulsed upon impact, and, without warning, the desk and chairs exploded into a million fragments. Hermione was knocked to the floor by the concussion, but Remus' shouted "Protego!" covered her just in time for shield her from the fragments of wood, metal, and glass that rained down around her.

"Merlin!" she heard Remus curse, then felt his hands on her shoulders. "Hermione, are you alright?"

With his help, she sat up, staring around her at the remnants of the destroyed furniture. "I think so. Are you two okay?"

"Fine, my dear, fine," Mr. Ollivander said. He was frowning as he surveyed his former office space, then gave an offhanded flick of his wand that reassembled the desk and chairs back to their original condition.

"Are you sure you weren't hurt?"

Hermione looked up to Remus, who was still kneeling beside her, his hair and clothes coated in dust. She put a shaking hand to her head and grimaced at the clammy sweat accumulating along her hairline. "I'm sure," she repeated.

He helped her up, and swished a cleansing charm over both of them.

"Again," Mr. Ollivander called.

Remus rolled his eyes at the older man's authoritative tone, which made Hermione giggle despite the lingering weakness in her limbs. It took only a moment for them to return to their former positions, but Hermione hesitated over her choice of spells. An Aguamenti might fill up the entire place and drown them, and, of course, her bluebell flames were out of the question. She didn't dare conjure canaries; the very thought of what they might do. Finally, she raised her wand, which was again thrumming in apparent anticipation, and focused her mind on one very old, very clear memory.

"Expectro patronum."

The otter that sprang into being was so enormous that it literally filled the room with its silvery presence. She stood in the midst of the immaterial creature with her arm thrown over her face to shield herself from its stunning brightness. The otter twisted around, chirruping happily, and she almost thought she could feel ghostlike fur brushing against her arm. The scent of pines and water seemed to emanate from the Patronus, a heavenly smell. She lowered her arm a little, squinting against the light, and reached out a hand to touch the animal's heaving side. Before she could do so, however, she felt her head began to swim. Just as suddenly, her knees began to tremble. The Patronus flickered then, winking in and out of existence before disappearing entirely. Hermione felt herself pitch forward again, and only managed to bring her hands up to catch herself at the very last instant.

Again, hands helped her to a sitting position, but a wave of dizziness made her slump. Remus caught her, easing her back against his arms. When she was able to focus her eyes, she saw him gazing down at her with mingled concern and awe in his face.

"Did you see that?" she managed to say against the dryness in her throat.

He smiled. "Oh, we saw it."

Mr. Ollivander came up to stand in her field of vision then, and she was faintly surprised to see a mysterious smugness in his expression. "Well, Miss Granger," he said firmly. "I think we can conclude that there is nothing wrong with your wand. Nothing at all whatsoever."

Hermione felt her fingers tighten against the wand she still held in her hand. Fear welled up in her, and, along with it, the distinct compulsion to use it again no matter what the consequences. She shook her head and let it drop to the carpet.

"I'm not so sure of that at all, Mr. Ollivander."

**Another note: More about Tonks in the next chapter. I really like the character, but I had to do something with her! Stay tuned…**


End file.
